Page 173 of Hat Trick
I stand and hold onto the boards, already knowing I’m in a much better headspace than I was. I’m stronger both mentally and physically, and I nod, ready to give this thing another fucking shot.
“Do you think you can hold my hand?” I ask, and I don’t care how weak it might sound. I can’t do this without her. She’s been there every step of my journey, and ifthisis the way to get back to doing what I love, I need her by my side. “Please?”
“Gosh, Mitchy. Stop flirting with me.”
Lexi smiles and passes through the gate, holding out both her hands. I put my left skate on the ice first, then my right, exhaling when my legs shake. We stand there for a minute, stationary as I test out the weight and balance of the foreign prosthetic.
“Okay.” I give her a nod, and she wraps an arm around my waist. She holds my left hand in hers and pushes off, starting us down the straightaway. “Holy shit.”
“Does something hurt? The doctor said your residual limb might be uncomfortable in the new liner and socket. I brought some body oil if you need lubrication and?—”
“I feel like I’m fucking flying.” I glance down. I’m steady on both skates, blades pointed straight ahead, and I roll my shoulders back. “This was the missing piece.”
“Yeah?” Lexi says, and her hold around my waist loosens. She grips my hip and lets out a squeal when I’m the one to push off the ice and move us forward. “Okay, speedster. Let’s remember you don’t have any protective equipment on and this is your first time using?—”
She breaks off with a chuckle when I round the first corner, adrenaline pumping in my blood. I can’t explain it, but this new equipment feelsnatural, like my leg is really there and it’s the one doing the work, not relying on a piece of machinery. I’m balanced, centered. It’s easier to make the turns, and my range of motion stretches wider than last time.
“It’s so light. Nimble. Feels like it can support my weight better, too,” I say.
“Do you want me to let go?” she asks. “I don’twantto let go, but do you want to give it a try by yourself?”
“Okay.” I swallow, throat thick with emotion as she carefully detaches herself from me. “Just one lap.”
I take off, my body leaning into the prosthetic with all of my weight as I increase my speed. I wobble once or twice when my right skate gets stuck under me, but it’s snappy. Easier to pick up and fuckinggo, and one lap turns into two. By lap number three I’m drenched in sweat, exerting myself in a way I haven’t since last June, and I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry.
On lap number four, I try skating backward. I lose my momentum, my left leg giving out from under me, and I cackle when my ass hits the ice. Lexi races over, touching my head and my shoulder, and I grab her hand so I can kiss the tops of her fingers.
“I’m fine,” I pant. “Got a little showboaty there. I deserved to have my ass handed to me for going too fast too soon.”
“Give me feedback. How’s the weight and the dynamics of it? Does your limb fit in the socket?”
“I notice there’s a touch of extra space. I’m rubbing against the liner when I get going, but when I’m moving more slowly, I can’t tell. Holy fuck.” I put my hands on the ice, not caring my palms are going numb, and stare down at the blade attachment. “This is fucking incredible, Lexi.”
“I was hesitant to reach out to a new prosthetist. What you use in your day-to-day life is perfect, and your gait is exactly what it needs it to be. After I learned about a company that solely designs prosthetic limb attachments for athletes, I figured it was worth a shot. The doctor told me he’s listened to your story, and he’s honored to hopefully be a step in your journey. I told him I’d film you on the ice and send it his way. Maybe I can share it with the social media team too, so they can post it on the Stars’ official accounts.”
I roll my lips together.
This is far from a comeback.
I’m not donning a jersey anytime soon.
I can’t make it more than a lap without getting winded and my upper body is still flailing around in preparation of a wipeout, but it’s step one. A peek into what my post-recovery career as a professional hockey player might look like, and if it inspires other athletes or a kid out there who wants to give up because they look a little different than how they used to, I’ve done something good for the world.
“Okay,” I say slowly, standing. “I’ll let you record me, but I want to do something else first.”
“Anything,” she says automatically, and I gesture to the bench.
“Can you FaceTime my dad? I want him to see me skate. My passcode is 0813, and he should be near the top of my call log.”
Lexi smiles and heads for my bag, riffling through the extra clothes I brought while I do another slow lap, coming to a stop in front of her. She holds up the phone so it faces me, and when the call connects, my dad’s face fills the screen.
“Riley?” He squints and leans away from the camera. “Hey, son.”
“Hi, Dad.” I grin and put my hands on my hips. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m fucking skating.”
